


something a bit more productive

by KicktheMatt



Category: Dragalia Lost (Video Game)
Genre: First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, annelie makes an appearance bc i love her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KicktheMatt/pseuds/KicktheMatt
Summary: “It’s a bit astounding, to be perfectly honest. It seems like the only one who’s oblivious is Vixel himself.”There was a small moment of silence, as Fritz pondered the thought. “...What should I do, Anne?”“I think,” she began, turning towards him, a knowing look on her face, “...I think you should channel what nerves you have into something a bit more productive.”-for satsu! thank you so much, i thoroughly enjoyed writing this!warnings: none except for 1.6k words of fritz and vix kinda being idiots in love but that's not really a warning, is it?
Relationships: Fritz/Vixel (Dragalia Lost)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	something a bit more productive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [@satsumikan on twitter!](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%40satsumikan+on+twitter%21).



It had happened again.

Another step, another falter. Of course, nobody noticed-- Fritz wasn’t that clumsy. Any good performer knew that if you messed up, you just had to act like it was all part of the show. 

So, when Fritz found himself locking eyes with Vixel in the crowd, in the midst of a performance, he felt his breath catch. He could tell that he had missed a step or two in his routine. Nobody noticed. Nobody knew.

The knife still hit the target flawlessly. There was still a roar of applause.

He looked back to the crowd, a bright showman’s smile upon his face. From the middle of the audience, a smile was shared back at him.

\--

_How obvious was_ it that Vixel was blushing?

Of course, he was seated in the relative dark. He knew how spotlights looked from onstage-- he could probably hardly be seen. Only a vague figure in a sea of awe-struck faces.

He loved coming to Fritz’s performances. They were enchanting, they were enthralling. Recently, he found himself drawn to the big top more often than not. 

The knife-thrower sauntered on the stage, preparing for the next leg of his performance. From yards away, his amber eyes met Vixel’s own, and it almost seemed as if he...stumbled.

Vixel knew he wasn’t as observant visually as he was aurally, leaving him surprised that he had noticed such a stumble at all. The audience didn’t react-- they hadn’t noticed whatsoever.

Yet Fritz continued on, as if it didn’t occur in the first place.

\--

_“It’s kind of_ obvious, y’know,” Annelie said, running her hands through her hair, gently detangling the knots that formed during the night’s performance.

Fritz let out a groan. “Is it really? How embarrassin’. And to think that I’ve been _tryin’_ to be subtle.”

The sylvan nodded, a smile forming. “It’s a bit astounding, to be perfectly honest. It seems like the only one who’s oblivious is Vixel himself.”

There was a small moment of silence, as Fritz pondered the thought. “...What should I do, Anne?”

“I think,” she began, turning towards him, a knowing look on her face, “...I think you should channel what nerves you have into something a bit more productive.”

\--

_The night’s chill_ didn’t bother him at all.

His breath passed through his lips, fogging in front of his face, and rose towards the darkened night sky. Vixel was used to cold-- after all, he had been born and raised in a village covered in snow for most of the year. If anything, the cold took him from his racing thoughts.

His shoes clicked against the stone walkway, echoing in the outdoor passageway, providing a comfortable monotony of a beat in the otherwise still night. 

He wasn’t one to get sleepless often. He had plenty of things that haunted him in the night-- all people do, after all-- but he rarely, if _ever_ , got sleepless to the point of having to step away from his bed. To step away from music.

He had awoken; or, rather, had finally decided that his mind wouldn’t calm itself enough to let him sleep, and went to the piano. Sitting upon the bench, his fingers laying against the ivory keys, he found his mind at an unusual _blank_. Well...blank, if not considering what was keeping him awake in the first place. 

Normally, he would play and play, venting in the form of music, but the notes would not come this particular night. The melody he had played for hours and hours in times before did not come. One finger hesitantly pressed the middle C, without direction as where to go next. The note sustained, ringing in the air, until the string within the piano stopped vibrating, and the room was silent once more.

The conductor let out a sigh. Music did not seem to be with him that night. So, instead of fretting over the silent keys of the piano, he decided to take a walk.

His thoughts raced in a whirlwind, whistling through the air as they swirled up and out of control. His heart ached, and his very soul felt simultaneously disjointed and more grounded than ever before. What was this feeling? What was this--

Vixel stopped in his tracks. There were footsteps approaching him from behind.

He could tell they weren’t unfriendly-- quite the opposite, really. Fritz had a certain sound to his walk; a graceful, larger-than-life click of his heels that echoed and made its presence known. Attention-seeking, enrapturing. All eyes turned to him when he walked in a room. 

And so, the conductor turned, his eyes laying upon the one thing plaguing his thoughts, the one person whose existence has his heart in shambles.

Fritz. He seemed different now, than on stage. Point it out, and Fritz would vehemently deny that he’s any different from his persona in the center ring. There was Fritz the Magnificent-- a thrilling, boisterous, danger-seeking knife thrower, and then there was _Fritz_. Gentle, kind. Fiercely protective of those in his life, afraid of the harm that could come to those he loves. A jokester, a charmer. The list of wonderful qualities that had Vixel falling over and over again was too long to list.

Vixel could tell the difference between those two personas of the performer like one attuned to art could tell the difference between shades of gray, as a musician can discern the difference between a sharp and a flat.

“Not like you to be up so late,” Fritz said, his voice soft. 

“I suppose not,” Vixel replied, as he stepped towards the other man. Each and every step he took sent shivers through him, his heartbeat quickened the closer he came to Fritz. “What about you?”

Fritz shrugged nonchalantly. “Couldn’t sleep.” He met Vixel halfway. “Guessing it’s the same for you?”

A small chuckle escaped the conductor. “Am I that easy to read?”

“You are, a bit,” Fritz replied, a gentle smile on his lips.

Lips that, for only a split second, Vixel glanced at. He looked down and away, arms folding over his chest. The air was still, the night was devoid of noise other than the occasional whisper of the wind through the leaves, and the nervous beating of his heart. For a moment, Vixel was glad that Fritz’s hearing wasn’t anywhere near as good as his own.

“You seem kinda out of it,” Fritz said, his head tilting slightly. “You’ve got somethin’ on your mind?”

Vixel turned his head back towards Fritz. “Do I? I apologize.” He unconsciously reached up, tucking a strand of deep black hair behind his ear. “I...have plenty on my mind, at the moment.”

“I get that feeling,” he responded, looking at the courtyard beyond the walkway. In one of the archways of the path, a divider of stone stood. Fritz nodded towards it, signalling for the other to come sit with him. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asked, sitting, leaning against one of the stone pillars, becoming coated with soft blue moonlight shining into the walkway.

Vixel stood, watching him for a second, his breath catching. In the light, Fritz looked nothing short of ethereal. 

He was soft, dripping in beautiful shadows. A painting, a work of art. He was the visual behind an adoring sonata, played with gentle, yet passionate feeling. The notes that Vixel’s fingers so longed to play at the piano wished to be notated now-- all he needed was his source of muse. The subject of his anguish.

It took every fiber of his being to follow Fritz to the divider, sitting on the chilly stone. Vixel’s eyes refused to look at him directly, as he turned to face him. “I’ve just been having some dilemmas, that’s all. Some nerves, so-to-speak,” he said, finally, after a short yet deep breath.

“Anythin’ I can do to help sort them out?” Fritz asked, his tone filled with...something. Care, perhaps? Worry?

Vixel contemplated for a moment, another hand reaching up to his hair, tucking more strands behind his ear. His heart ached. He wanted to say it out loud. 

The words were on the tip of his tongue, _begging_ to be said into the air. 

_I love you, I love you._

The words would not come.

“I’m not sure,” he said, instead. He could feel his being deflate a bit. His eyebrows furrowed, only so slightly.

Fritz reached forward, tapping Vixel between the eyebrows playfully. “Don’t scrunch your eyebrows like that, Maestro. You’ll get all wrinkly,” he teased, chuckling. 

Vixel’s eyes widened in shock, before they softened at Fritz’s laugh. “Perhaps that’s what I wanted,” he joked back, reaching up to move the other man’s hovering hand. 

Fritz’s eyes studied him, looking over every piece of his delicate features. Vixel’s eyes hit the moonlight in such a way that was utterly dazzling, absolutely blinding. He could feel his heart beat fast and his stomach turn into knots as he gazed. What was it that Annelie had said earlier?

Ah, right.

In a dashing moment, in a fleeting second of courage, as Vixel lightly pushed his hand away, Fritz took hold of it. Their hands, intertwined, fell to the stone, resting upon it, bathed in the moonlight.

Vixel gasped, a burning blush appearing on his face in an instant. He looked at their hands, a giddiness in his chest. His eyes flicked up, meeting Fritz’s warm, amber irises.

And the performer looked on, a dusty blush upon his own cheeks. “It does you no good to worry like that,” he began, a small smile forming on his lips, “You should channel those nerves you have into something a bit more productive.”

Vixel swore his heart had stopped for a split second, as he processed what Fritz had said.

Without words, without missing a beat, he leaned forward. Soft lips pressed against Fritz’s own, hesitantly. His hand tightened its grip onto the other’s. He pulled away, slowly, the smallest of smiles upon his face. A matching one lit up Fritz’s.

He leaned in again, eyes fluttering closed.

Now, that, Vixel thought. _That_ was much more productive.

**Author's Note:**

> heyo if you'd like me to write you a thing then head on over to my twitter! @wormprint or my tumblr! @wormprint uwu


End file.
